Queenie
Page 18
“So this isn’t your first time here?” she asked, tapping away.
“No, it’s not.”
“Okay. And what has brought you here today?”
“I had unprotected sex two weeks ago with a man who I think was from Japan, before you ask if he’s African. I’m sort of getting better at using condoms but just got, er, carried away,” I answered quietly.
“Okay. Do you have any symptoms? Itching, any unusual discharge?”
“None of the above.”
“Would you like to take a pregnancy test?” the nurse offered.
“No thanks, I have an IUD. I mean, I’ve been pregnant before,” I explained. “But I think that was because I was having regular sex. Just the STI test, please, and I’ll hope for the all-clear text in two weeks.” I laughed nervously. The nurse did not laugh with me.
When she’d finished poking about, she told me to put my clothes back on. Instead of letting me leave, she asked me to wait a second, and left the room. I got dressed and sat in the chair waiting for her to return, when a pair of white-blue eyes framed by a harsh gray bowl cut made their way into the room. Elspeth.
“Queenie, you’re back.” Had that nurse ratted on me?
“Hello, Elspeth,” I said, confused, not knowing why she was here. Elspeth took the traitor’s seat at the desk and started tapping at the computer, as they’re so fond of doing when they could be making eye contact and engaging with me at a human level.
“Now, this is your third visit in quite a short amount of time,” Elspeth informed me as if I didn’t already know. “And while I’m pleased to hear from Caroline that you aren’t battered and bruised, she did say that you seemed very vacant. I know that you might not want to talk to me, but I think that you do need to talk to somebody.”
I stared at her blankly. What was I meant to say, that I wasn’t my sparkiest when I was about to show my vagina to a stranger when I wasn’t going to get anything out of it?
“Between me and you, I have a daughter your age, and in some strange way, you remind me of her.”
“Is she black?” I cut in.
“No,” Elspeth said firmly. “When you left last time, I made some calls, and while I hoped you wouldn’t come back in, I got the number of a therapist for you to call in the event that you did return.”
“Can I go now?” I asked. “I have to go back to work.”
She nodded, and handed me the piece of paper as I left the room. Without looking at what it said, I shoved it to the bottom of my rucksack.
* * *
I slid past Gina talking angrily on her phone in the foyer, something about “custody” and “you can have them, then,” and got back to my desk in time for my meeting with Chuck.
He was already in the breakout area, pen and paper in hand. I put my coat and rucksack on the floor and collapsed into the beanbag opposite Chuck. He looked up as I landed. “Careful. Don’t hurt yourself,” he said cheerfully, his Boston twang grating on me. I definitely found the accent less thrilling since he was the reason I’d been given a warning.
“I’m fine. The whole point of beanbags is for relaxation and comfort,” I said sharply. “Right. Are you ready for the big project? The big project that is going to change your life as you know it?”
“Yes. I think so. But how are you, how are you doing? You seem kinda, I dunno, messed-up recently.” Why did he always want to discuss my bad moods?
“I’m fine. Just some boy dramas and family stuff, and life always has a way of—Sorry, Chuck. Let’s keep this strictly professional, okay?” I hurried along. “So, the last few weeks you’ve shadowed me while I’ve used InDesign to fill in the listings?”
“Sure have. But you know, you can talk to me about anything. I’m kind of a good listener.” Chuck leaned forward eagerly.
I ignored this. “Okay, so, I’m thinking, for your project, you design a whole new layout for the listings. Think about utilizing the space of the six pages, Chuck. That should keep you going for a while.”
“Er, I don’t think that I’m that good yet?”
“Don’t be so negative!” I said briskly. “You’ll be fine. Now, can you look away while I get up from this beanbag? Why did you pick these to sit on? There is nothing less dignified than getting up from one of these things. It’s a system of thrusting.”
Eventually I made it back onto two legs and to my desk.
On Tuesday, 15th January, Jenkins, Queenie
Tea and talking, afternoon edition?
On Friday, 18th January, Betts, Darcy
Sorry, no, I’ve got loads to do, and Simon is calling at half past so that we can “iron some things out.” Can we e-mail? Or text. Group chat in case one of the others needs to step in when I’m on the phone?
On Friday, 18th January, Jenkins, Queenie
Darcy, is there something wrong with me? I just went to the clinic and this nurse who seems to be keeping tabs on me has basically said that I’m fucked up and gave me a counseling referral. Do I go there too often? Am I damaged beyond repair?
On Friday, 18th January, Betts, Darcy
I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you clinically, but there’s no harm in talking to a professional about what’s been going on. Maybe, and don’t take this the wrong way, maybe change your attitude toward the way that you engage with men?
On Friday, 18th January, Jenkins, Queenie
What’s wrong with the way I engage with men??
My phone lit up. The question was too big for Darcy to handle alone. She’d taken it to the group text.
THE CORGIS
Darcy
Queenie has just asked what’s wrong with the way she engages with men
Kyazike
LOL
Kyazike
LOL I don’t think any of us will ever be able to answer that one
Queenie
Thanks, Kyazike
Kyazike
You know what I mean though. You’re just boy-mad, innit. You’ve gone rebound crazy. But for some reason it’s all dickheads you’re going for
Queenie
I don’t think that’s true
Cassandra
Is that a joke? That tweed guy? The OkCupid boys who throw you about? The anal guy?
Darcy
I agree with Cassandra, actually. Look at the way you are with Chuck: he’s obsessed with you, wants to know how you are and actually listens when you answer, stares at you in meetings, hangs off of every word you say, makes you unlimited cups of tea (which he won’t do for anyone else), and you just look past him
Kyazike
What is a Chuck?
Darcy
He’s our intern
Kyazike
Oh, Chuck is someone’s NAME? Skeen
Cassandra
Why not open yourself up to the idea of engaging with men who are nice to you, Queenie? Not only ones who use you and make you feel terrible afterward. Do you even like the sex you have? Sorry to be so personal, but do you even orgasm?
Queenie
Well, no. But who does, when they’re being slapped and bitten and pulled around? Anyway, I like it
Cassandra
Sure you do.
Queenie
And Chuck doesn’t fancy me. Even if he did, he’s too nice for me. I don’t deserve it
Queenie
And CRUCIALLY, he almost got me fired
Darcy
Well, if we’re being honest, you almost got yourself fired
Darcy
@Kyazike, I know I should just go on Urban Dictionary, but for the sake of brevity, but what does “skeen” mean?
Kyazike
It means seen
Kyazike
Like, I see
Darcy
Right. I’m with you<
br />
Queenie
THANKS, ALL
On Friday, 18th January, Betts, Darcy
Let’s talk about this properly tomorrow. Maybe you should go home early, I think you should probably have a bit of time for yourself? I’ll cover for you.
I am fine. Fine, I told myself on repeat as I packed my bag. I snuck back out of the office and saw Ted smoking on the wall opposite, his head bowed. My, at this point, inexplicable fondness for him made me walk over and hoist myself up on the wall next to him.
“Remember me?” I asked.
“Shit!” Ted grabbed his chest. “You scared me.”
“Overreaction,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“You know, I probably should have come to find you sooner,” Ted said, his mouth stretched in a grimace.
“Or replied to my many e-mails?”
“I’m sorry. But after we . . . I just. . . . It didn’t feel right.”
“Oh, cheers for that,” I said. “What’s wrong with me?”
“No, nothing, nothi—”
Ted stopped abruptly when we were joined by Gordon, his desk mate, who was still wearing clothes that were too tight for him.
“Have you got a lighter, Ted?” Gordon asked, shoving a hand in his jeans and pulling out a pack of cigarettes with great difficulty.
“Here ya go.” Ted handed it over.
“I keep meaning to ask,” began Gordon, who was obviously not going to acknowledge my presence, “where was it you went on your honeymoon, again? I’m thinking about somewhere nice and sunny to take the missus in a few weeks. Neither of us can bear the winter.”
I hopped off the wall and tried my hardest not to be sick all the way home.
chapter
EIGHTEEN
I STAYED IN bed tormented by nausea until I started to clean the house to try to take my mind off it all. When the dark thoughts were at their loudest, I went for a walk to clear my head, but took a wrong turn and ended up on the main road by the notoriously rowdy White Horse on Brixton Hill. I was seized by such sadness as I watched its revelers spilling out into the street, the noise of Friday night fun all too recognizable. I never had fun anymore. It was all just shit. I turned to walk back up the hill.
“Oh, look who it is!” I heard, and, though only marginally sure it was directed at me, turned around to see where it had come from.
“Long time. How are you?” Guy broke away from a group of boys, walked over to me, and put his pint on the ground. I seized up. “What are you up to, dressed like this?” He pulled at my paint-splattered cleaning clothes.
“Cleaning! I needed some air, all of that bleach, you know. Anyway, what are you doing here?” I asked, crossing my arms, at that point aggressively aware that I wasn’t wearing a bra.
“Pal of mine thought it would be a laugh to come here. I’ve heard some things, but I didn’t expect it to live up to them,” he said, trying his hardest to stare through my folded arms.
“Well, I should go! I should get back to it. Have a good time!” I nodded good-bye, my arms still strapped to my chest, and walked away.
THE CORGIS
Queenie
Ted is married
Darcy
WHAT?
Kyazike
Come again?
Queenie
Yep. His desk mate dropped it. Didn’t stay to find out the details
Kyazike
Give me his surname and I can get you his wife’s name, job, and Twitter handle in less than a minute. I can go DIY FBI on it
Cassandra
. . . Are you surprised?
Queenie
Er, I AM, YEAH. Are you NOT??
Cassandra
It explains his behavior, doesn’t it. The intensity, the caginess, the distance, the coming back when he got bored again, the withdrawal.
Queenie
Okay, Cassandra, if you have an answer for everything, why did he stop talking to me when we’d had sex?
Cassandra
There was no more excitement or chase, only guilt in its place. And he couldn’t handle it. He’s a coward.
Darcy
A BLOODY COWARD. I hate him for this, Queenie. I’m so sorry
Queenie
And I’ve just bumped into Welshman when I had no bra on and was wearing an outfit that was pretty much covered in paint. I smell like I’ve showered in bleach. Today is not going my way. This year is not going my way
Darcy
Please stay away from Welshman! Your resilience against men who are bad for you is VERY LOW at the moment
Cassandra
Queenie, for the love of God, stop giving any of them your energy. We’ll discuss tomorrow morning. See you at 11.
* * *
Sleep paralysis is a strange thing. I’d had dozens of episodes at university when I’d take naps; when I looked into it, I’d read that it’s something about the brain being disrupted and waking up before the body, which is why you can’t move when you’re hallucinating that there’s a faceless man climbing across the floor toward you. I’d been seeing him more often recently, but I was aware that I was stuck in an episode when I started seeing the figure of a man emerging out of the pile of clothes on the corner chair.
The doorbell was ringing, but I couldn’t get up to answer it because I was stuck to the bed, staring at him as he contorted and reached out to me. But why was the doorbell ringing?
I gasped myself awake and sat up, heart pounding. The doorbell was ringing. I looked at my phone: 2 a.m.
No response from Rupert or Nell—they must still be out. I waited for the night caller to go away. After a few minutes, they stopped ringing the bell. I turned my pillow over and tried to go back to sleep. I was almost fully submerged when the bell started going again.
I crept out of my room and down the stairs slowly, my heart beating out of my chest. I was certainly testing its endurance tonight. Obviously weaponless, I pressed myself against the front door and looked through the peephole, guessing that my plan of attack would be to scream as loud as I could if they kicked the door down. Nobody was there.
As if in a horror film, a face flashed up. Fucking Guy. I opened the front door. “What are you doing?” I hissed, blocking him from entering.
“You ain’t go’ any time for me anymore an’ I’on like it,” he slurred, putting his hand on my shoulder. “You don’t wan’ sex anymore an’ thas crap for me because our sex is absolutely cracking.” He moved his hand across my face and I pulled myself out of his reach. “You see? You used to love my touch.”
His head lolled forward and he leaned against the doorframe. I saw a porch light go on across the road as the angry Turkish woman opposite opened her front door.
“Go away, Guy!” I hissed.
“Where’m I goin’ away to?”
“To your house? Where you live?”
“I’on know my postcode. I’on know where my keys are. So I’ve come to see you!” he shouted. “I’ll tell you what—I’ll sleep on the doorstep, shall I?”
“Hey, you!” the woman across the road shouted back. “Stop making the noise!”
“Sorry!” I whispered as loudly as possible. “Fine, come inside.” I growled, pulling Guy in and closing the door behind him. I walked to the kitchen and he stumbled after me, throwing himself into a dining chair as I poured him a glass of water. I handed it to him and watched him down it and slam the empty glass on the table.
“Guy!” I said, smacking at his clumsy hands as he tried to grab at my bottom. “You need to sleep.” I stood behind him and guided him into the living room. He flopped onto one of the sofas and lay on his back.
“ ’Member when we fucked here? You loved it. Your big black arse was bouncin’ up an’ down an’ up—hey, hey, where you going?” Guy made one final grab for me as I dropped a blanket on him and turned to walk out of the room.
“I’m going to bed,” I said, ignoring his comment and the reminder that I’d conceded
to his request of sofa sex just to stop him from constantly asking.
“Shhh, babe, don’t be cranky. You’re so gorgeous even in your head-wrap thing. Why’on I come up with you? You missed me surely? Missed this, yeah?” He gestured at his lap sloppily. I turned the light off.
“I’m getting up early, my friend Cassandra is coming round for breakfast. Besides, no. No more sex.”
“No Cassandra. I don’t want Cassandra.”
“Good night, Guy. DO NOT come up.” I went back to the kitchen, filled Guy’s empty glass, and crept into the living room. He’d already started to snore. I put the glass on the table by his head, then worried that he’d fall off the sofa and crack his head on the table, so tried to move it across the room silently. I dropped it on its side and froze. I looked over. He continued to snore.
I’d finally got off to sleep around three-thirty, when my bedroom door opened. “It’s too cold down there, I can’t sleep.” Guy, almost naked but for his boxers, climbed into my bed.
“Are you joking?” I hissed at him. “You can’t sleep? I’ve been hearing your snoring through the floor!” He moved closer and pressed himself into me. He slid my T-shirt sleeve up and kissed my neck. “And when did you take your clothes off? Why are all your clothes off?” I slid away.
“Shhh, stop talking,” he said in response.
“Guy. No.” I turned to face him. The moonlight shone on his face. “If you have to stay in here, please, can you just go to sleep? I’m up early. I don’t want to have sex with you,” I said in my sternest voice. “That is my final word. If you push it again, I’ll order you an Uber home. And I’ll go through your phone and find your postcode.”